


These Violent Delights

by KingGhidorah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blood, Breeding Kink, Choking, Daddy Kink, Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, F/M, Fisting, Gun Kink, Implied Age Gape, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of suicide(brief), Multi, No use of y/n, Reader is AFAB but otherwise ambiguous, Reader is a trouble maker who has authority issues, Threats of Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingGhidorah/pseuds/KingGhidorah
Summary: This fic is back with an expanded plot! I've gone a bit more graphic with Star Wars typical violence.Before the downfall of Jabba's Palace you were a hirable gun on Tatooine that admired the legendary Boba Fett from afar. You've been a bit adrift since his death and the demise of Jabba's. When you hear he is alive, you make a hasty, dangerous, decision that's sure to get Boba Fett's attention.He sends one Din Djarin to collect and deliver you to him.As it says on the tin, there's a lot of smut(throne sex, duh). But also PLOT. Please heed the warnings as it does get a bit graphic. If that's not your thing, please consider passing. Thanks!
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader, Din Djarin/Boba Fett/Reader, Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 157





	These Violent Delights

prologue 

  
  


You knew he was going to send for you. That's what the plan was, anyway. You felt ethereal, like you'd left your body behind. That the girl waving a blaster in the face of Fett's hired goon was someone else. On some faraway planet, in a galaxy that hadn't heard of Boba Fett or his legend. You wished that were true, but here you are. 

"He'll burn you for this, girl." 

"Oh?" You press the muzzle to the Devaronian's forehead, "You think so?" You fire, the Devaronian's face evaporating before your eyes. A thin layer of blood coats your skin, a shiver running through your body. Was that  _ empathy _ ? Perhaps. But it doesn't matter, now. Fett is going to come for his Spice. He is going to  _ burn you for it _ , if he had to. You knew he would. That was the plan. 

You didn't have long. 

"Whatya' want us to do with it, boss?" A wily looking Twi'lek stares up at you from the sand, eyeing the carefully placed boxes on the cargo shuttle; you gesture towards one with your chin.

"Sell it. Smoke it. Snort it. I don't give a fuck what you do with it. You haven't got long before word gets back to Fett, though, so decide quickly. Your hours are numbered."

The Twi'lek's eyes gleam at the order to  _ smoke it _ , "So are yours, boss." 

"Yeah," you smirk, "I reckon they are." 

\--

He does send for you. You know, as soon as the beskar glint hits your eyes in the afternoon sunset, you know. It isn't the man himself, no, but _Boba Fett_ _is here for you_. A Mandalorian, shiny and chrome like he'd just fallen hot off the Mandalore presses, not hunter green with worn matte paint. Absent of the Tatooine scars you and Fett carried so well. 

You watch as the others in the market part like a sea, avoiding the gaze of this Mandalorian's visor like they might Boba Fett's once upon a time. He can't see you but he knows you're here, the bounty fob alerting him of your presence. A frantic beeping that reaches your ears from the other side of the market’s dirt path. Unholstering your blaster, you duck behind a stall to ensure you're the one to get the jump on him, and not the other way around. 

_ Too late _ . 

As you back up to the vantage point, trying to get eyes on him, you bump into something-  _ someone _ \- hard and immovable behind you. 

"Looking for someone?” 

You’re fast, but he’s faster- already grappling for your blaster, throwing it aside whilst pushing you against the duracrete building behind the stall. His hand curls around your throat, knee slanted between your legs in an assert of dominance. 

He’s in charge now, the game of cat and mouse you’d hoped to play over before it ever started. Struggling against his grip- you kick into his beskar chest- hands clawing frantically at the chromatic helmet and cloth cowl. It’s all a show, and he knows it. He tilts his head, inquisitive,  _ amused _ with your frustration. Hurting him is near impossible, you realize, he’s immune to mere flesh hands that sport no weapon. 

He’s taller than Fett. Though it’s been years since you’ve seen the green bounty hunter, every unimportant detail of him is burned into your brain like a brand. Save his face, which still remained a mystery to you and most everyone else. 

“ _ Osik _ , get your fucking hands off me! You  _ brute _ !” 

He drops you abruptly, bum hitting the sand with a loud  _ thud.  _ Two thick arms cross over his chest, without even hinting at making a move for the blaster at his hip, he cocks his chrome head again. 

“I’m not touching you,” you can almost hear the smirk through his modulator. Your eyes travel up his body, noting the hilt of a lightsaber hanging from his belt. 

_ A Jedi?  _

Impossible. That’s  _ impossible _ . You don't believe a Jedi would ever don the armor of Mandalore. You back up impossibly closer to the duracrete, any faux fear you’d displayed suddenly very real.

“Jedi,” the word hissed through your teeth, barely any breath behind it. 

His hands don’t budge, “Try again.” You can’t breath. The word hangs on your tongue but you can’t bear to let it leave your lips. Heavy it sits in your mouth, wet with spit and blood as you bite the inside of your cheek from speaking it.  _ Mand’alor.  _ What you know of Mandalorians is very little, but you know this. The one that carries the noir blade is a king among kings. Is that what he is? Is that who Boba Fett sends to collect his things? Your marbled eyes shine back at you in the beskar gaze,  _ T  _ visor still slanted down.  __

_ A king among kings _ . 

“Mand’al-” Before you finish the declaration the soft  _ crunch  _ of your own skull crackling against the duracrete fills your ears, the Mand’alor’s knee making contact with your pretty face. The world is dark. 

You think- you  _ hope _ \- you’re dead. Prepared for Boba Fett,  _ sure _ , but you’d never factored in the  _ Mand’alor  _ himself coming to find you. 

You think death would be more a mercy. 

No such mercy met you, instead, a gloved hand striking your cheek rouses you. Hissing as a dull pain thumps through your head, you reach for the wound but realize your hands are bound.  _ Oh, right.  _ You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but both the suns have vacated the sky, leaving only darkness around you. The sand is still warm against your skin, which is covered in a sheen of cold sweat. 

Voice garbled, your mouth dry as you try to accuse him, “ _ Mand’alor-  _ you… You’re the-”

“I’m not anything, kid.” His tone is clipped, but not unfriendly. You feel the quick pinch of a shot in your neck, and the dull ache starts to subside. Your vision pieces itself back together, and there he is. Standing over your cuffed body, your back propped against something cold. Not duracrete, no. 

_ Durasteel.  _

_ A ship _ , you decide. The Mand’alor’s ship? Maybe.

You try to scramble away but he holds you in place, two large hands gripping your shoulders. “Don’t hurt yourself. That’s Fett’s job.”

“Oh, really? You seem to be pretty good at it, yourself.” 

He sighs, hands sliding down your arms, “You’ll be fine.” The  _ T _ visor tilts up, his gaze traveling over the vacant Dune Sea until it rests on what he was looking for. “Can you walk?”

He helps you up on two unsteady feet, but you pull away, “Get your hands off me,  _ Mand’alor _ .” You reel your head back and spit at him, watching as your hasty decision drips down the beskar’gam.  _ Osik. You fucking idiot.  _

You always were an impulsive girl. 

His reaction is painfully slow. Thought out. Calculated. So unlike your own. Watching as he jerks his own head back, once again filling your ears to the brim with the sound of your skull crackling. This time against his own beskar crown. The  _ Mand’alor  _ is unforgiving. The  _ Mand’alor  _ is king.

_ So, you will show him some respect _ . 

_ No _ ,  **_no,_ ** you think,  _ fuck that _ .

“ **_Kriff_ ** !” Staggering back, you’re able to keep your balance, but blood pours down your already grimy face; a face still tacky with the dearly departed Devaronian's brain mist. Your vision swims, not even contemplating the consequences-  _ impulsive _ girl that you are- as you charge forward and heave your entire body at the  _ Mand’alor _ . Tatooine’s Dune Sea partially swallows you both. 

He scrambles to push you off as you mirror his attack, heaving your already aching head back and smashing it into the beskar. Over and over, again. Until the pristine  _ T  _ visor is painted in blood, colored oil in the darkness. Teeth rattle loose in your mouth as the  _ Mand’alor  _ finally gets affixed to you, straddling your thighs and holding your shoulders down in his grip like a vice. 

Blood oozes off the beskar’gam into your gasping mouth. You wiggle within his grasp, legs flailing like a wild animal, the stars glint off his lustrous figure under the night sky. “ _ Fight me, Mand’alor _ ! C’mon,  _ hit me _ ! I know you want to. It’s written all over your  _ face _ !” The last sentence rewards you a reluctant chuckle from the chromatic man, who only holds you down tighter. 

“Fett said you’d be a little high-strung but shit-,” his voice is a husk as it comes through the modulator, “-he didn't mention anything about a kriffing  _ death wish _ .” You laugh at him, still gasping slightly, breath wet with spit and blood. 

“Won’t you grant my wish, then, o’ great _Mand’alor? King of all things?_ Hmm?” You crane your head back, sneering tone vibrating through your throat. Exposing yourself to him, pulse hammering under your skin, adrenal glands working overtime- a small, dark, part of you hopes he’ll do it; call your bluff and wrap ten leather costumed fingers around your neck. Squeezing tight, until the light within you dims to dull, then dies. 

_ Do it do it do it!  _ Scream your eyes as he leans down close- so close that even with fuzzy vision you can see your macabre reflection in the stained beskar. 

“That’s Fett’s job,” he whispers for the second time that night, before plunging another needle into your neck. Rolling off your broken body, he hoists you up once more. “Don’t fucking do that again.” His visage comes into view as the hypospray repairs your wounds; only evident now by the drying blood on your skin and his beskar'gam. He tilts his chin forward. “Walk.”  __

“Whatever you say,  **_Mand’alor_ ** .” You quip, a smirk creeping up your face as you turn away from him. 

Who is this man, this king? This _Mand'alor_? Where had Fett found him? Who had he become to _you_? Your _stupid,_ _heavy,_ heart flutters in your chest at the thought of him. Kriff, you _care_ for Boba Fett, of course, but _now_ some new, bubbly, feeling rises up in your lungs for this kaleidoscopic Mandalorian, as well. Like the silly, impulsive, little girl that you are, you're prone to making mistakes. Prone to chasing trouble. Prone to falling in love with the pressure of fingers wrapped around your neck. 

Glancing back at the Mandalorian, your smirk grows as the familiar silhouette of Jabba's palace cuts the horizon before you.

  
  
  
  
  


these violent delights

  
  
  


"Hey! Not so rough, asshole!" You gripe as the Mand’alor unbinds your hands, shoving you slightly forward so you're inches away from the throne that once sat Jabba the Hutt- who now appeared a false king compared to the seat's current occupant. 

The tall Mandalorian tosses a bounty puck which the new king catches with ease. Your heart hammers in your chest as the matte green helmet tilts toward a slender woman who’s sitting on the right arm of the throne; a blaster resting in one hand, drink in the other. 

She says, "Already transferred him the credits." 

"Good," comes Boba Fett's rough voice from behind the matte helmet. It's looking prettier than the last time you laid eyes on it, but still not as new as the Mandalorian who'd brought you in. He looks to the bounty hunter, "Where'd you find this one?"

"On world, actually."

Boba hums at that. "Interesting."

"Stupid." Replies the shiny Mandalorian. A laugh comes through Boba's vocoder. He puts his hand on the back of the thin woman, giving her a shove. She offers him a nasty look, but stands up, leaving to pour herself another spotchka. 

"What do you say to that?"

"I say fuck off, Fett." You steel yourself, waiting for the trap door to the rancor's cage to be released; but the floor hasn't fallen from under you yet. He  _ hmmm _ 's in disapproval, spreading his thick legs further apart, body the epitome of ease. 

"A shame what you did to her face," Fett looks at the  _ Mand’alor _ , who shrugs in response, feigning disinterest. 

“She did that to herself.” 

It's been a long  _ long  _ time since you and Fett had seen each other, and you hadn't parted in any particular way. You barely had given Boba a glance from across the room anytime you'd come into Jabba's looking for work. Having almost no technical skills other than what growing up on Tatooine provided- surviving and killing- you took work where you could find it. Which was what sent you to Jabba's palace every other month. The bustling music, revolving door of mercenaries, and pretty women constantly milling about put you at an almost ease. Compared to the bright Dune Sea it was a beautiful dark corner of the world you'd been happy to occupy.

  
  


The first time you'd seen Boba he'd had all types of acolytes tripping over themselves to get a mere glimpse of him as he jaunted into Hutt's palace; while others avoided the glint of his visor for one reason or the other. You wrote him off as another asshole amongst assholes; and then you'd heard he died. A particularly grisly death, in fact. You'd shrugged. That night, you slept in your ship- a shitty little thing held together by hope and loose thread- mind adrift. You were half asleep when your brain finally settled on thoughts of Boba Fett. What had he looked like, under all that busted up green beskar? You shook your head, giving your face a light slap, in hopes you could get a hold of yourself. The man was dead. No use in thinking about him. Jabba's own demise came soon after that, and the little dark corner you'd come to call home died, as well. You'd been lost for some time, looking for any sign of that old home; and here it was. 

"Is that so, Princess? Such  _ little regard _ for your own life." His voice was an invisible scar left by the sarlacc- gnarled and twisting the gentle lilt of his accent. 

" _ Kriffing suicidal _ ," interjected the Mand’alor _ , _ but you ignored him, simply too focused on the king in the throne, and not the one who’d delivered you. 

Fett  _ hmmm's _ , "Pain and pleasure are often conflated. She doesn’t chase death, only gratification. Isn't that right,  _ Princess _ ?" 

There it is, again. You hadn't misheard him.

_ Princess. _

You let the word crawl up your body slowly and rest in your brain, which fuzzed out at the edges with every word he spoke. That dark, little, part of you wanted to see what his breaking point was; what he'd do to you in complete blind rage. You're sure he would kill you, not spare you so kindly as his counterpart had. Open up the rancor pit and let you meet the demise so many others had. Or maybe something less dramatic? A blaster to the head; stomach if he wanted to watch you die slowly. Violence was a Mandalorian's religion, and Boba Fett was the most devout of them all.

You always were an impulsive girl. 

A smirk plays at your lips- this man's so used to people bowing under the weight of his legend, you're sure he isn't ready for someone to act like they don’t give  _ one single fuck _ about it. You respond again with-

"Fuck. Off. Fett." Your eyes are laser focused on him, noting every twitch, every breath, to see if something in his composure changes. 

The slender woman made her home by his side again, sipping spotchka lazily but still gripping that blaster, in the event Boba Fett says 'jump' and she has to ask 'how high?' You think maybe he’ll make a simple gesture and the woman will blow your head off- but that doesn’t happen. In fact, Fett is eerily quiet for a few moments. The silver Mandalorian is banked against the wall behind the throne- visor tilted slightly to the side- waiting for you and Fett to give him a show. There’s a low hum of talking that fills the room, other bounty hunters devoid of couth, mixed with the slow beat of music you’ve never heard before. It makes for a pleasant experience, you must admit and, if you make it through this encounter still breathing, you wouldn’t mind frequenting the place sometime in the future. 

“What? Lothcat got your tongue, _ Princess _ ?” You mock him, resting your hands on your hips, shifting all your weight to the right. The stance overtly accentuated your bottom(you knew this) and had softened even the hardest of facades to become puddy in your hands. This silhouette paired with an insolent lilt to your voice could get you out-  _ or in _ \- to any situation you wished.

“Worrying about my tongue when you can barely hold your own? Maybe I'm mistaken, maybe she does have a death wish. Is that it, girl? You come here to die?"

You don’t answer him right away, biting your lip, instead. You give the _Mand'alor_ a glance before your eyes flick back to Boba. After a beat you give a nervous _huff_ , responding-

“You’ve gone soft, Fett. The old you would have put me in the ground, already.” 

He chuckles so low the vocoder barely  registers it, “That wouldn't be as fun as watching you  _ suffer _ , now, would it?” A shiver runs through your body, bones humming with a fat feeling you recognize as excitement. As if on their own, your feet start shuffling toward the throne’s pedestal. 

Your hands leave your hips to sway at your side, “Then get on with,  _ old man _ .  _ Make me suffer _ .” In truth, you aren’t sure if Fett  _ is _ an old man- but you’ve gathered enough information about him over the years to guess he’s many moon cycles ahead of you. 

He stands swiftly, descending the throne in one long stride and suddenly you’re looking up at him; a pursed scowl reflecting back at you in the gleam of his beskar. 

_ Fuck, he’s big.  _ His head is tilted down, inches from your face, and you think he’s going to say something but he’s quiet again. The silence is killing you- making you  _ suffer _ , just like he’d promised. Your brain buzzes in your skull with some swollen feeling that extends down your face, to your chest, until it pools in your lower stomach. The smallest of noises escapes your scrunched lips as you feel a telling wetness between your legs. You watch your face betray you in the beskar, embarrassment speckling across your nose and cheeks; so you grip your hips once more, planting your feet even deeper into the floor in an act of resilience. 

“You want to know what I think, little one?” His voice is impossibly dark as it comes through the modulator, he’s so close now that your nose brushes against the beskar.

You furrow your brow, asking “What’s that?” 

Boba grabs your upper arm harshly, sure to leave a mark, and rests his helmet against your ear. 

“I think you’re enjoying this; the threat of being broken-in like some unruly animal. Is that why you let yourself get caught? You need a  _ firm hand _ , hmm?” Fett’s fingers tighten around your bicep, seconds away from breaking bone. “I could tell, from the first time I laid eyes on you I knew, even all those years ago. You wondered how much of me you could take. How many fingers? Maybe a whole fist? Not at first, but with some stretching-- I think you'd look beautiful wrapped around my hand, don't you?" At first, you're shocked. Silent. The man is one of few words, and this is the most you've ever heard him speak. You pull back, eyes attempting to read the emotionless  _ T  _ visor but getting nothing in return.

His other hand comes up to smear the drying blood over your mouth. "Is this what's left of my Devaronian friend? You'd have me do the same to you, wouldn’t you?" Your eyes glaze over at his threats, the smell of your own fluids(blood, spit, and  _ slick _ ) fill your nose.  _ Osik _ , you reek, but it doesn't seem to dissuade him. Fett's voice is sweet in your ear, "What you want is written all over that pretty face, little one, just let yourself have it."

With his fingers almost inside your mouth it's hard to speak, and you want to deny that you'd take  _ everything, _ if he was the one giving it, but you can’t- because he’s right. So you whisper- "You’re a monster.” 

Boba's thumb  _ finally  _ pushes in-between your lips to shut you up, and your eyes immediately slip closed, sucking on the gloved digit like your life depends on it. Maybe it does.

“I’ve been called much worse names than that in my life, Princess.” 

You wonder if anyone is staring at you sucking on Boba Fett's thumb like some kind of common whore, when a smooth voice cuts the air-

"You really are  _ stupid _ , kid."

_ Oh, maker _ \- you almost forgot about  _ him _ . The chromatic Mand'alor who'd caught you in his snare and delivered you to the new King of Hutt Space.  _ Shit-  _ you squeeze your legs together in a desperate attempt to stop the spreading wetness from dripping down your thigh. Boba drags his thumb from your mouth, grabbing your chin hard enough to pout your bloodied lips. 

"Look at him when he's speaking to you, Princess." You open your eyes, and the taller Mandalorian is much closer than you’d remembered.  _ Maker. _ His footsteps still near silent as he invaded your space, joining you and Fett in this violent delight. Undoubtedly, receiving the show he’d been waiting for. He tilts his head to the side looking almost inquisitive as the beskar gaze weighs you down. 

"I've seen better women than you try this  _ act _ , but it always ends the same." 

You let your tongue dart out to touch your bottom lip, tasting copper, skin more than slick with drool. "How's that?" You ask, voice muffled from Fett’s grip on you. 

The  _ Mand'alor _ tilts his helmet to give Boba a quick glance, looking back to you, he snarls- "With them bleeding and broken and  _ fucked  _ within an inch of their life over that fucking throne until the only words coming from their bruised mouths are  _ please _ and  _ stop.  _ **_But something tells me that's exactly what you fucking want_ ** _. _ " 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the Mandalorian's words- unable to stifle the whine that escapes your lips. That heat that's been pulsing between your legs unfurls in your belly and you’re not quite sure if anyone’s ever cum just from being humiliated, but Fett's  _ Mand'alor _ is getting you close. Boba chuckles, “I think we’re scaring her.” 

“She’s not scared,” the other growls, “she’s about to cum. Aren’t you?”

You try to speak but it feels like the breath has been knocked from your lungs- so you just lean into Fett’s rough touch, closing your eyes once more and moaning loudly. Suddenly, Boba picks you up by your forearms, as if you're weightless, before ascending the pedestal and dropping you unceremoniously onto the floor at the foot of the throne. You crumple into a pile, legs shaky from being on the edge of orgasm so suddenly. You lower your head so the patrons can't see the pained expression on your face. 

Grabbing at Boba's leg like a desperate whore in heat, your voice is barely a wisp "Please- Fett, please. I need--" 

His gloved hand grabs your chin again, forcing you to look at him, "Tell me what you need, Princess." Something in your lizard brain snaps as you gaze into the unwavering green of his beskar- all logical thoughts dissipate as the heat radiates from him. You don't care that every hirable gun on Tatooine is here to see you melt under the touch of Boba Fett. You _don't care_ , in fact, you _want them all_ _to watch_.

"Fuck me. Please.  _ Please _ ." 

Boba  _ tsks _ , "In front of all these people, little one?"

" _ Yes- yes whatever- I don't care."  _

He bends down- voice barely audible, "Then show me. Show daddy how much you  _ don't care _ ." 

_ Daddy? Fuck. Yes,  _ yes _ be my daddy- _ you want to say, but the words tangle in your throat and all that escapes is a choked off moan. 

This isn't real. You decide. It _can't_ _be_ real-- you must still be knocked out from when the Mand'alor crushed your skull against the duracrete, and this is clearly some type of fever dream. _If it's a dream_ you decide _then I'll give him whatever he wants_. 

Boba stands back up and you take this opportunity to brush your fingers over his cock, making him groan softly. He settles himself back onto the throne, moving you so you're knelt before him like an offering.

"All she needs is a collar," comes the Mand’alor’s disembodied voice from somewhere to your right. Boba notices your body tense up at the suggestion.

" _ Oh _ ? Would you like that, little one? A collar-- so I could lead you around like a bitch in heat?" You nod, slowly shifting to rest between both his thighs, "Use your words, girl." 

"Yes- yes,  _ daddy,  _ I would--like that."

Boba _mmm's,_ rubbing the back of your neck with his hand, "That's my good girl." Your muscles ache at the praise-- immediately craving more, but instead watching as he makes a gesture to the slender woman which is followed by the _bang_ of a blaster firing into the ceiling. 

Her voice echoes off the duracrete, "Next ones in your head, asshole." Somebody- one of Fett's many hunter's- had let their eyes wander too close to you, and Boba had noticed. You fumble with his pants before feeling the hardness of him in your palm. Fett groans a bit louder as you finally free his cock and wrap your mouth around the head. It's large, like the rest of him, but not impossible to swallow down with enough effort. 

You're certainly up for the challenge, working your tongue down the shaft before Fett grabs the back of your head with both hands, growling "Hurry up."  He slams your mouth down the rest of the way with no preamble-- sounds of soft protest are muffled when your nose brushes his belly. Tears leak from your eyes as he pulls you back and slams your mouth down once more; establishing a rhythm. Eyes slipping closed and jaw all but unhinging for his huge cock-- the head hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. 

A truly grotesque sound of gagging fills the palace to overtake the pulsing music; once- twice- but it only causes Boba to fuck your mouth faster. Everything is slick with spit and pre-cum; your mouth, chin, cheeks, his dick. Blood once tacky, now fully dried, crusting up on your skin; you think he's about to cum when he rips your mouth off of him, his tone almost dismissive, "Up.” There's no hesitation, you climb onto Fett’s throne and straddling his thighs-- yelping as he rips your flimsy leggings down the middle. 

" _ Fuck _ \- look at you-" He groans, bringing two gloved fingers down to rub your clit, "-my cock makes you  _ this desperate _ , little one?"  _ Yes, yes daddy yesyesyes-  _ you're brain liquefies in your skull as Boba shoves two fingers inside you unexpectedly. He anticipates a response but you aren't sure if you can offer him any coherent thought.

Boba's other hand comes to wrap around your neck, giving a light squeeze, "Speak, girl." Bowing your head back as Fett squeezes harder, air struggling to meet your lungs as you stare blankly up at the duracrete ceiling. "Speak, girl-" he implores again, "-or I'll open up your cunt on my blaster."

The very thought makes your whole body vibrate, " _ Yes _ -" you croak "- _ yes, daddy _ . I'm- I'm  _ s--so ugh  _ I’m so _ close. _ " Boba adds a third finger, flexing them inside your cunt to which you buck your hips in response, searching for friction. 

"Needy little thing, isn't she?" Boba tilts his head to the side, addressing the other Mandalorian who's back to leaning against the wall. Arms crossed over his chest and legs hooked together at the ankle casually; if  _ this _ was the show he'd wanted then he isn't acting like it. 

He responds to Fett with a shrug, "Seems a little  _ unhinged  _ to me." Fett hums at this, working the fourth finger inside you. 

"She _does_ , doesn't she?" He rubs his thumb into your cheek from where he's gripping your neck, "Oh, are you having a _problem_ , Princess?" As the seconds tick by your breathing becomes shorter and shorter, the low hum of music and conversation fading out until all that can be heard is your desperate gasping. Boba starts tucking his thumb into your cunt and you're _sure_ you can't take anymore. You want to plead to the _maker_ for Fett to stop- to slow down at least- and it occurs to you that the other Mandalorian was right. All your thoughts aren't really _thoughts_ but two simple words- 

_ Please _

and

_ Stop _

But you'd wanted for this with every cell in your body. Wanted to be wrapped around Boba Fett's fist and made a whore of the king. From the Very Instant you'd heard the hushed whispers of  _ Did you hear? Boba Fett is alive! He took Jabba's palace!  _ in the cantina- you'd formulated The Plan that was born to fail and put a mark on your head. You knew he’d send for you. He did. So here you were. 

As his thumb  _ finally  _ tucks inside you, you bring your fingers up to grab the hand that's wrapped impossibly tight around your neck. Immediately, Boba eases his hold, hand now just hovering over your throat. He caresses your cheek, gloved fingers smelling of booze and Tibanna. 

"Easy--easy  _ Princess _ , you're ok. _ "  _ Dull, dingy light reignites your vision, the slow pulse of the music comes back to accompany your shallow gasping, chest rising and falling in an almost hysteria. As all your senses start flooding in, the sensation of Boba’s huge gloved hand unfurls in your lower belly. Fett drags his other hand down your body before reaching your tummy and pressing in slightly.  _ Shit shit-  _ he can feel his own hand through your stomach, and it’s causing your body to all but implode from the near perfect fullness. 

“You gonna’ cum all over my fist, little girl?  _ Hm _ ?” He presses particularly hard, provoking you, giant gloved hands touching with only your skin between them. He starts rubbing slow circles on your clit again, all while your hips move  _ up-down  _ on his wrist, speeding up as you feel your release pending. Your body starts to shake when that flowery feeling in your lower belly goes from unfurling to igniting, “That’s it-- that’s it, little one, look at you. So pretty wrapped around my fist. Are you close?" His voice rakes up your spine, pushing you over the edge. "Cum for me,  _ Princess _ ." 

“ _ Ahh- h, Boba! Yes!  _ Fuck-  _ fuckfuckfuck _ .” Your release hits you like a speeder, causing you to curl around Fett’s body, the cool beskar comforting on the exposed heat of your thighs. Shudders drag through your belly, but slowly the aftershocks calm, and Fett shifts your weight to start unhooking his fingers. Gasping as the last of him leaves your abused cunt. 

“ _ Maker- _ '' you look over Boba’s shoulder to the other Mandalorian who’s beskar helmet is staring you down, voice crackling through his modulator “-vaii's kaysh collar.” You don’t know what the fuck _ that _ means, but the Mandalorian’s glare is palpable through his helmet, fists clenched at his side in frustration.  _ He wants what Boba Fett has _ . 

_You_.

Pulling back as Boba answers him, your skin sticky with sweat,, “Vabiir te ijaat, Djarin.” Suddenly you’re lifted the rest the way off Fett’s lap, being shuffled and bent over the arm of the throne. Tunic ripped off, discarded as he pinches your ass with the same hand that was squeezing your throat. You jerk forward as he gives it a harsh smack, “Next time I’ll bend you over in front of all these  _ fine people _ and beat your ass raw for stealing from me, Princess.”

Your heart jumps in your chest.  _ Next time _ ? Boba Fett plans on there being a  _ next time _ .  _ Maker _ , your little plot had unfolded  _ perfectly _ . The only unforeseen surprise was the annoyingly chivalrous  _ Mand'alor, _ who’s currently standing before you.  _ Fuck _ , he's still eerily quiet(all the good hunters are), reaching towards your face, about to touch what belongs to  _ Boba fucking Fett _ , when a sharp  _ click  _ fills the air. The collar is cold-  _ fuck, _ so cold- against your searing skin, with a good weight behind it as it hangs around your throat. 

“Beskar’gam,” Boba breaths in your ear, “-for my Princess.”  _ shit _ . Fett called your bluff, and you'd lost. As far as you knew he didn’t even care that you existed before putting a bounty on your head, but,  _ maybe _ that was the furthest thing from the truth. He grabs the chain and yanks your head back so you're forced to stare directly at the other Mandalorian. You think Boba had called him  _ Djarin,  _ but to you he’s only the Mand’alor. 

So you whisper it, “ _ Mand’alor _ .”

He jerks back slightly like your voice stung him, the moniker melting into a moan as Boba grabs your hip with his free hand and bottoms out in your still sloppy heat. 

“Rejorhaa'ir kaysh gar gai,” Fett grunts to him. You can’t see his eyes through the helmet but you’re sure he’s staring like he wants to swallow you whole. He looks away with his whole head, like he’s contemplating whatever the other Mandalorian had just ordered of him. However their dynamic worked, Boba Fett certainly acted like he was the only king in the room. 

_ I’m not anything, kid  _ the Mand’alor’s words from earlier ring in your ears. 

He looks back at you, voice cracking as he finally obeys Fett, “Din. It’s Din.”

You’re sure the stupidest, sloppiest grin spreads across your face as you groan his name, “ _ Din _ -” breath waning into a moan as Boba rolls his hips and hits  _ that spot _ “-Din-  _ fuck.” _

“Tell me… Tell me how he feels.” You hear Boba chuckle in your ear and you want to tell Din how  _ fucking big _ your daddy is,  _ how much it hurts _ , tell Din  _ he was right _ . You  _ must _ have a death wish. You're being fucked within an inch of your life and it's all too much, too fast. The idea of eyes lingering just close enough to see you getting  _ absolutely railed _ by Boba Fett, in their periphery, makes you roll your hips to meet his. Filling the room with a sound of wet skin meeting in an obscene  _ slap slap slap _ \- and you hear Din hiss through his modulator. 

" _ Big- _ " the word finally leaves your throat, "-he's  _ big _ . Din, it hurts." Din doesn't wear a cod-piece which lets you get an eye-level view of how much he's enjoying the show, so you continue- "I can feel him here-” fingers settle on your belly “he’s hitting that s--spot.  _ Fuck  _ it feels so g _ ood,”  _ Boba yanks on your leash cutting off your breath for just a second. 

" _ Careful _ , Princess. Remember whose hand you belong to." Your right palm is braced on the arm of Boba's throne, vision still level with Din's cock even as Fett forces your neck back further. 

"Yes, daddy. I'm sorry.  _ Fuck- yes yes _ keep going, right there.  _ More more _ -" you can't believe you're asking for  _ more  _ from the man who just felt his fist through your belly, but you are. Every inch of your skin yearns to be touched- every hole aching to be filled at Fett's command. Your eyes are stuck on Din's cock, it's big- maybe not as big as Boba's- but  _ fuck  _ it's close. 

You reach out to touch the fabric when Boba yanks you back- "What do you think you're doing, little girl?" His voice is  _ dark,  _ making your heart jump, but you can read the undercurrent of interest in his tone. 

"I just want to  _ help _ , please daddy? Let me h--help him _ mm-"  _ you put a little more anguish than necessary into the request, slamming your hips back, using the arm of his throne as leverage to really  _ grind  _ your walls down his cock. Fett groans, stilling inside you to stave off his release, letting the leash fall slack as his arm encircles your waist. 

The cold of Boba's beskar'gam crawls up your spine as he rests his head on your back. "Pirimmur kaysh uram, Din," he commands Djarin in a hushed tone, to which the other Mandalorian wastes no time, undoing his pants and taking his cock in his hand- other massive palm coming to grab your head, forcing your mouth to stretch around his dick while Fett resumes pumping inside you. 

Din shoves your mouth all the way down until the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, a small hiss of  _ fuck  _ coming through the modulator- from behind Boba is pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. 

“She’s still so tight-” Fett declares, making Din huff.

_ “  _ I don’t know  _ how _ \-- her c-cunt swallowed your hand like it was  _ nothing _ .” You’re looking up at Din through fat tears as his cock continues to bruise your throat- he and Fett pushing and pulling your body in a  _ perfect  _ rhythm. 

_ Din in, Boba out, Din out, Boba in, Din- _

“Fuck-” Djarin throws his head back, voice ripped from his chest by the Maker itsself, “- you gonna’ let him cum inside you, sweet girl?” You nod your head furiously, gaze bouncing off his beskar back to you, “Let him fill you up until his cum is dripping out of your cunt for hours. Maybe  _ days,  _ hmm? That what you want, sweet thing?” You can only whine around Din’s cock, nuzzling his belly and trying your damn best not to gag all the while throwing your hips back to engulf Fett in your dripping heat. The ever present feeling of a dozen different eyes yearning to behold you is driving you close to the edge of release. How do you look, stuffed full from both ends? 

“I’ll fill her up-” Boba breaths, “-until her belly is swollen, and everyone knows she's _ mine _ .” 

_ Maker  _ you’re tumbling off the edge of orgasm as Boba’s words settle hot against your skin.  _ Yes  _ screams your lizard brain  _ yes fucking fill me up- _

_ “ _ Shit-- I think she likes that idea.  _ Say it again _ ,” whispers the Mand’alor.

Boba grabs your hips with both hands really railing into you now, “Yeah? You want me to fuck a baby into you, Princess? Is that what you want?” The walls of your cunt tighten and you feel yourself tumble off the edge of release- moaning around the base of Din’s cock. The vibrations cause him to pull your head impossibly closer to his beskar’gam clad middle, until he’s shooting ropes of cum down your throat. You aren’t sure how much further you can stretch as both men are forcing their pleasure from your body in two separate directions. You think you may rip in half from the pressure but, then again, you think-  _ you wouldn’t care if you did _ .

“ _ Maker _ \- I should've known. It's so fucked up,” chides Din, rubbing slow circles on your tear-stained cheek. “Coming just from the threat of being bred? There you go, little thing, make your daddy cum like a good girl-”  _ shit  _ where the fuck did Fett find this  _ Din Djarin _ , this  _ Mand'alor,  _ to dangle you above the flames of total impropriety? To reduce you to a sloppy little hole to be fuck? A simple little bitch to be bred? 

Din’s cock slips from your mouth, allowing you to finally go off, “Yes- daddy,  _ daddy _ I want you to fuck a baby in me,  _ please daddy _ \- fill me up until it’s coming out my mouth-” 

Fett loses it at that, thrusting so deep you can feel him just below the hand that’s still resting on your abdomen. “Shit--” he groans, hot spurts of cum start filling up your belly until you’re sure it’s going to either burst, or leak back out your cunt. It does the latter, spilling from your heat to dribble onto the throne-- staining it with you and Boba’s scent. 

A minute passes before you feel the presence of a fourth body, “Boss? We got a  _ little bit _ of a problem,” it’s the slender woman, she’s looming over Boba’s flank, gesturing to the palace’s entrance. “The moisture farmer from yesterday-- she’s here to discuss a trade.” You look up and see a malnourished looking woman standing in the entrance. She’s older, graying hair framing her face nicely, quaking where she stands at the sight of them.

“She may approach,” Fett responds, cock sliding from your heat finally. You slump onto the throne until Boba lifts you up and sets you in his lap. The farmer tentatively steps forward, wringing her hands nervously. Din takes his place back against the wall, arms crossed, stance hard. Boba rubs your back, tugging on the collar lightly before greeting the timid farmer, “Enjoy the show?”

Din  _ huffs  _ a laugh from behind you, the sound putting you at ease-- relaxing against Boba’s chest like you’d always meant to belong there. The thin woman brings Fett a wet cloth, gesturing to your still stained face. He gently swipes it over your skin, the comfortably warm feeling pulls a groan of relief from your lips as the blood is finally wiped away. You smile, nestling into the crook of his neck as he speaks to the poor farmer. 

_ Yes _ , your plan has gone almost perfectly. Though, it occurs to you, you still haven’t seen the man’s face.

_ Next time.  _ Boba’s words ring in your ears. 

_ Next time.  _

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr: pala-din-djarin


End file.
